


Virtues Uncounted

by artesiaminor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hair Washing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, References to Depression, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Suicidal Thoughts, Sylvain Jose Gautier Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artesiaminor/pseuds/artesiaminor
Summary: Felix hated that Miklan’s final act would be unforgettable. That the memory of him would be burned on not only the minds of Sylvain, Ingrid, Dimitri, and himself, but that he’d managed to make himself a legacy among their entire class. It was disgusting how such an unconscionable piece of garbage had managed to weave himself into the fabric of their life at the academy, the one place where Sylvain should have been able to remain separated from him.Now, in the aftermath of battle, Sylvain is a hollowed out version of himself. It's concerning. Felix doesn't know how to reach him. Nobody does.----Felix tries to clean up the mess that Miklan left behind.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 180





	Virtues Uncounted

Sylvain and Felix's curfews had been lifted for the night, at Professor Byleth’s command. 

Felix wasn’t sure that the Professor had such pull, that if Seteth found he and Sylvain wandering around Garreg Mach in the night he would not begin to yell and direct them back to their dormitories. Then again, Seteth wasn't stupid, and with the way Felix and Sylvain looked, there was no way they could enter the dormitories in their current state. 

They were covered in blood. 

Specifically, they were covered in _Miklan’s_ blood. Or the black-red fluids of the demonic creature Miklan had become. It was Felix’s fault. This fact didn’t bother Felix much in and of itself: Miklan had always been a crooked fuck-up, obsessed with ruining Sylvain’s life though he’d done nothing to him. Felix couldn’t count how many times he thought the world would be a better place if he just gutted Miklan with his sword. He couldn’t say he didn’t find any satisfaction in the fact that he finally had been able to. 

However, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sylvain watching as his crestless brother was claimed by the Lance of Ruin in Miklan’s final act of stupidity. Sylvain staring in abject horror while Miklan contorted and pulsed and grew until he morphed into a monster. Sylvain standing there, not hearing a word, not reacting to Felix’s desperate pulls against him to _fall back, get away, move._ He didn’t, so Felix was forced to block Miklan’s first blow right there with his shield, then he rounded underneath his neck and sliced it open, the blood dumping on the two of them like rain. 

And it wasn’t over then. No, Felix had to cut the bastard again, and again, and again, and with the help of their classmates had to lure the vile creature away from Sylvain who could not bring himself back to the reality before him. It'd been a nightmare come alive, as Sylvain had put it. That wasn’t what Felix wanted at all. 

_“Miklan… my brother…”_ was all Sylvain had said. He’d picked up the Lance of Ruin from Miklan’s corpse and, when it glowed in submission to Sylvain, he threw it away from himself just as quickly. He hadn't spoken since. Just watched the bloody footprints underneath his feet as they all shuffled away from the battle, as wide eyed as he had been when Miklan had first transformed. 

Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri had stayed close, though Felix remained a step behind so Sylvain didn’t see the carnage on him. Classmates had drifted by and tried to start a conversation with him, but it was swiftly clear that their attempts were falling on deaf ears. The Professor, to their credit, knew not to say anything. Instead, they had gestured for Felix to walk beside them. 

They spoke more words in that brief talk than Felix had ever heard them.

 _“When we get back to the monastery, you and Sylvain are free to walk the grounds as long as necessary. I want you two to clean up in the pond_ _first_." When Felix did not ask why, the Professor begrudgingly continued. _"I’m sorry, but if you go straight to the baths, I am worried that you will be kicked out as you two are…”_

The Professor didn’t finish their sentence, and didn’t need to. Where most of the class looked like they came back from a battle, Felix and Sylvain looked like they’d swam in a sea of blood. When Felix did not respond, the Professor seemed to know that he’d heard them, and had stepped away. 

Felix then rejoined Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain. Ingrid had been failing at getting Sylvain to speak. She'd tried several tactics, from joking, to expressing condolences, addressing the issue head on, and then trying to goad him into an argument. At the last attempt, Felix had sneered and Dimitri placed a hand upon her shoulder. 

_“That’s enough for now, Ingrid.”_

“… _You’re right. I’m sorry, Sylvain_.”

The apology went unacknowledged, likely never to be acknowledged, but Ingrid was as good as forgiven anyway. 

Now they were back at Garreg Mach. Sylvain unchanged. Felix angrier, and with nothing concrete to direct his rage at, and no time to find a dummy to take it out on. 

When Sylvain tried to shuffle into the monastery with the rest of the class, Felix caught his arm. 

“Try and flirt as much as you’d like, but I think the woman running the baths will turn us away,” Felix said. He’d hoped he’d sound like his normal self, but his voice was too quiet, almost resigned. Still, it managed to elicit the first change in expression he’d seen on his friend. Sylvain’s eyes becoming half-lidded, accompanied with a drooping smile.

Ingrid nodded and brushed her arm with Dimitri, pushing him to continue into the Academy. Felix turned away, and led Sylvain around towards the pond, their pace never growing faster than a death march. 

At the corner of the monastery, outside the company of anyone else, Sylvain finally spoke. 

“It’s a man."

It took Felix a moment to figure out who he was referring to, but when he did he gave him a glance out of the corner of his eye. 

“You’d still try it.”

Sylvain only responded with a huff, but it was something. 

Felix grimaced when he saw Dedue of all people come out with a bucket full of soaps and towels. It was likely because the Boar attempted to bring it out himself, prompting Dedue to so graciously take it in yet another pathetic display of blind obedience to Dimitri. 

Dedue, as seemingly skeptical with Felix as Felix was with him, paid him no real mind, instead turning towards Sylvain. 

Dedue’s expression was openly concerned and kind. Honest in his intentions. That was when Felix remembered that Sylvain and Dedue were friends. That Dedue, on several occasions, had defended Sylvain. That even though he marched to the beast’s drum, Dedue was astute enough to see that Sylvain was better than the masks he paraded. 

Despite his reluctance, Felix nodded in thanks. Dedue left without a word. 

There was no moon tonight, the sky above them painted in more than just the solid black that accompanied moonlight. A myriad of violets and navies, curling together, dusted with pinpricks of stars that glowed silver and yellow in the distance so far beyond reach. The dark water of the pond acted as a mirror of the night, the placid pool seemingly holding its own stars in its depths. 

Felix moved to the edge of the dock and sat down. Sylvain followed. 

They’d done this before, under significantly less dire circumstances. The water was so cold then. The two of them much younger. Sylvain, a little shit who was pretending to learn to fish just to bother Felix, and Felix, impatient even then, desperate to get his friend to stop what had to be the most boring hobby he’d ever witnessed. Felix charged him, Sylvain avoided it because Felix was as graceful as he was stoic as a child, and went barreling into the water. 

Felix wondered if Sylvain remembered. The answer was a firm “probably". Sylvain tended to remember everything. Especially if it embarrassed Felix. 

Returning to the moment, Felix stripped himself of his armor in a casual and inattentive way. Typically, Felix cleaned as he went, making sure everything was ready for the next battle from the moment it came off his body. This time, however, he opted for efficiency. 

Sylvain made no movement. Typically when he caught Felix stripping anything he made some sort of comment that made Felix want to punch him as hard as he could. Knock Sylvain off his feet so he couldn’t stare at him and make him blush as though he was doing something odd. 

This time, however, Sylvain didn’t say anything at all. Not that Felix expected him to, but it was unsettling all the same. 

The professor had changed Sylvain’s class recently to a heavy armor knight, after he had managed to graduate from a cavalry class. The armor nearly swallowed Sylvain whole, which was impressive, because Sylvain was hardly small. If Sylvain dropped into the water in all that, he’d never get back out. 

Removing his spats and chucking them behind him, Felix grabbed Sylvain’s shoulder. “You can’t go into the water with all that on. You’ll drop like a rock.”

No answer. Felix wasn’t sure if he was deep in thought, or if he was just completely gone. 

“Sylvain.”

Nothing. 

Felix stood. Walking behind Sylvain, he reached for his pauldron and tucked his hand in to undo the fastenings. Sylvain caught his wrist. 

“I can do it.” He spoke softer than his actions suggested. 

“Go on, then.” 

And Sylvain did as he was told. Taking off the high plated collar, the pauldrons, his chest-piece. It took longer than Felix’s own ripping off of his armor, but Sylvain was no more attentive. 

Felix sat back down. Now both down to their bloody underclothes, much of Miklan’s blood regrettably getting underneath all of their protection, Felix waited for Sylvain to seem ready. The breeze began to pick up, causing ripples across the pond that had looked like glass, trying to pick up the scabbed clothing that clung to their skin. 

When it was clear Sylvain would not be making the first move, Felix said, “it will be cold.” It was a statement to test Sylvain, Garreg Mach's pond could never compete with the wintry waters of Gautier. 

Sylvain did not rise to it, though, so Felix finished the thought for him. “But not colder than Gautier.” With that Felix dropped into the water. Immediately he tensed up, because it _was_ cold, but he would grow used to it. If there was one thing he could always count on his body for, it was that he would grow use to the cold. 

This time, Felix could sense Sylvain’s eyes on him. Turning around, Sylvain was watching, half-lidded, no look of consideration or pensiveness. Just watching. Felix stared back, waiting for a reaction, for a reason. It surprised him, and he felt anticipation and fear chew on his stomach. 

When no reason for Sylvain’s gaze was given, he stretched out a hand. “C’mon, then. Let’s get cleaned off before we freeze to death.” 

Sylvain took it, but not before commenting, “if we froze to death from this we’d be the embarrassment of Faerghus.” 

Usually Felix would quip something at him like “ _you’re already the embarrassment of Faerghus”_ , because it was the only kind of commentary Felix was good at, and Sylvain always seemed to take it in stride. This time, however, Felix held back. He was not the type to kick people while they were down. 

At least, not outside of battle. Or a good spar. 

Sylvain slid off the dock, falling into the water gracelessly, his body creating a wave rather than a splash like Felix's had. The waves rushed over Felix's shoulders, and Felix flinched, shivers running all the way down his spine. Sylvain must have felt his trembling because he muttered an apology and squeezed Felix’s hand. 

That made Felix’s gaze snap to him. 

That made Sylvain let go. 

Maybe it was the cold water, or maybe it was the breeze, or maybe it had just been enough time being an expressionless mute, but Sylvain’s gaze looked less hazy in that dark water. Instead it was all absorbing, wide under half-lidded gaze, taking in everything instead of blocking it out. He still was watching Felix. 

There was nothing to watch, except Felix’s face getting hot in an attempt to rebuke the cold, and Sylvain’s staring was making him even warmer. He looked away. “You’re the tall one. Hand me that.” Felix gestured to the soaps in the bucket. Sylvain obliged, throwing a bar of soap to Felix. 

“Still bitter about that, huh?” Sylvain asked, annoyingly continuing to discuss their height difference. 

“You always were lanky,” Felix countered. “It’s no surprise that you’d grow like a weed.” 

Sylvain let out another huff, but this one sounded slightly more like the laugh Felix had grown up with.

Taking the soap, he realized that though he’d intended to leave on his pants — he was not comfortable stripping down that much in public, even if at the moment it was just Sylvain — he hadn’t meant to hop into the water with his bloody shirt. Now it was clinging to him, but was the only thing trapping in any warmth. So, though he felt stupid, he continued as though it was intentional, and started scrubbing up his arms and just pushing the sleeves out of the way. 

The blood came off in inky swirls, still visible even though the pond was as dark as night, clouding the clear reflection of the sky above. The amount made Felix pause. The last time he saw this much blood pooling after a battle was after he and Dimitri quelled that rebellion, where he saw the true nature of the Boar. 

Sylvain saw it too. Any progress in his mood broke away, and Sylvain looked as far away as the stars above. 

“We should talk.” The words came out terse and forced, because though it was the truth, Felix was not fond of the idea. They needed Mercedes, perhaps, or maybe Dedue could come back with his resolute patience.

Sadly, Felix was what Sylvain had. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to Miklan.” Another forced out statement, because Felix didn’t apologize often and really wasn’t all that sorry about what happened to Miklan. In fact, Miklan becoming a monster was just the world seeing his true form, in Felix’s opinion. 

And since Felix was bad at lying and Sylvain knew him all too well, Sylvain swiftly replied, “No you’re not.”

Felix clenched his teeth. “Well, then I’m sorry you’re sorry about it.”

“I think most accurate would just be that you’re sorry I’m sorry. And even then, it’s a bit shaky. But I appreciate it.” It came out monotonous, because though Sylvain was a much better liar than Felix, he did always tend to falter a bit around him. Felix could tell that he didn’t really appreciate it at all. 

“I’m trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to help, anymore.” Sylvain seemed to have the same realization Felix did a few moments ago, but opted to instead rip off his shirt angrily and chuck it back at the armor. Though his actions were frustrated, his voice remained calm. “What’s done is done.”

“Was there _ever_ anything to help?” Felix asked. 

Sylvain’s gaze fixed on Felix yet again, and there was a glint in his eye this time. For a moment, Felix thought Sylvain would get angry, fight back, push on Felix’s words that he knew were too barbed for the situation. At least it’d be a reaction, and perhaps a worthwhile reaction, or at least an expression Felix was familiar with. 

But he didn’t. Instead, the glint faded away, and Sylvain went back to appearing miserable in the gray light. “Probably not.” He slumped back, his head banking against the dock with a heavy thud, and looked up. “I never could figure out what to do."

“It wasn’t on you to do something.” Felix continued cleaning himself off, showing Sylvain what he should be doing, and also because he just didn’t appreciate the idea of Miklan’s blood being in his hair for that long. “Miklan was the one with the problem, not you.” 

“I could have insisted my father treat —“

Felix blustered. “You tried that. Your father yelled at you, chided Miklan for giving you those ideas, and then Miklan responded by killing your horse.” 

Sylvain flinched. 

Maybe Felix was being too straightforward, but he didn’t know another way. Especially not when it came to Miklan. Sylvain’s whole life he’d been tormented by him, and Felix had to stand by and watch. When they were really young, he’d go to his father, or to Glenn, desperately pleading with them to do something for Sylvain, to stop Miklan, bawling every time Sylvain showed up with a new wound. They were always nasty, even to Felix who had grown up hearing realistic tales of knighthood from Glenn. Once it was a broken leg. Another time it was a gash in his side. Choke marks around his neck were frequent. 

If it wasn’t a fresh wound, Sylvain would come to Fraldarius with strange new fears. Endlessly worrying over being abandoned when they went into the forest surrounding the Fraldarius manor. For a while, he’d been terrified of swimming. The worst of it brought Sylvain clinging to Felix in the dark with too many reasons to be fearful: he didn’t like nighttime, he was afraid to be alone, he was afraid to go to sleep. 

It got to a point where Felix begged his father to adopt Sylvain so that he didn’t have to be alone with Miklan ever again. But his father did nothing. Never even brought up to the Margrave that there was abuse going on. Glenn, however, had tried to intercede, but that had led to disastrous consequences. Sylvain finally told Felix to stop, worried Felix was going to get him killed. 

Felix had been waiting for Miklan to die for a long time. And Felix was comfortable telling that to Sylvain straight, because Sylvain probably already knew that. Instead, however, Sylvain took the conversation in a different and somehow even worse direction. 

“The lance had wanted to obey me."

“Because you have a crest,” Felix replied. Quick. An attempt to give Sylvain no opening to think about this anymore. 

It didn’t work. That answer did little to sate Sylvain. His expression grim, his gaze trained on the sky. “It turned Miklan into a monster, but it obeyed me. What do you think that means?”

Felix was not going to play at philosopher, nor did he find much merit in doing so. “It _means_ you have a crest.” 

Sylvain let out a breath. A deep, hollowing breath, Felix could hear the creaking of his ribs as Sylvain deflated. Then he closed his eyes, at first like he was going to sleep. Then they screwed shut, like he was in pain, and he lifted his head off the edge of the dock and reeled back against it, a loud smack. 

Then he did it again. 

And again. Again, even harder. 

Sylvain lifted his head once more and Felix came to his senses, throwing himself forward and cupping his hand behind his skull, stopping him. 

“Stop that! What are you doing?” 

“It could have been different,” Sylvain said, helplessly.

"Not by anything you could have done.”

“You don’t know that.” Sylvain’s eyes cracked open just a little, and he stared at Felix like he was in agony. 

“Yes I do.” Felix did know that. Sylvain used to get beaten within an inch of his life and never tell his own parents, just in hopes that Miklan would look upon him favorably. Sylvain used to find out information about Miklan’s terrible deeds because he was always so much smarter than his older brother, and against his better judgment would keep them secret, just to try to get in Miklan’s good graces. There were even a couple of times where he recruited Felix and Glenn to try to get Miklan on Sylvain’s side, and it never _ever_ worked. 

Sylvain was disintegrating. Gaze sweeping over all the blood on Felix, on himself. He gulped and looked up at the stars again, reaching forward to try to barrel by Felix’s hand and bash it against the dock again. “I deserve to be hated by him. Just because I have a crest, everyone treated me as the success story. The Gautier honor was restored just because I was born. Because I have a crest, he was thrown away like garbage. He didn’t even have a chance.”

“He threw away any possibility of having a chance,” Felix spat. “He was a piece of shit Sylvain." Goddess, his blood was boiling. He hated Miklan. He hated that Miklan’s final act was so unforgettable. That the memory of him would be burned on not only the minds of Sylvain, Ingrid, Dimitri, and himself, but that he’d managed to make himself a legacy among their entire class. It was disgusting how such an unconscionable piece of shit had managed to weave himself into the fabric of their life at the academy, the one place where Sylvain should have been able to remain separated from him. Felix’s greatest hopes were that when the fucker died, it would be so distant from Sylvain and him that they wouldn’t even remark on it. An unremarkable man deserved an unremarkable death. Instead, Miklan had managed to make himself permanent.

“I wanted to give him a chance,” Sylvain croaked. 

Felix dug his nails into the back of Sylvain’s skull. He should have killed Miklan the first time he broke Sylvain’s arm. Should have kicked him into the well right after he fished Sylvain out of it. Should have suffocated him with a pillow any of the thousand nights that he had stayed in Fraldarius. Anything to prevent this. 

“Why?” Felix felt desperate, his heart felt like it was speeding away on a horse. “I don’t understand it, Syl.” 

“He was my brother.” 

“Why should that matter?” Everyone always treated bloodlines as the end-all-be-all answer, but Felix despised that. A person’s actions should determine who they are to someone, not their blood. "He didn’t ever consider giving you a chance, and you are far more deserving.” If Felix wasn’t careful, all of his emotions would boil to the surface. All his complicated feelings about nobility and family and Sylvain made it hard to untangle the thoughts in his head to produce coherent sentences, or sentences that did nothing but damage. “The only time he thought twice about you was to figure out how best to hurt you.“ 

He brought his hand back from behind Sylvain’s head, but reached over to the scars on his body. Scars that were not made from the training grounds, scars that were not from battle. Scars that were from his own brother’s hand. Felix backed away, shoulders slumping. "The only plans he made for your future was figuring out how to kill you, Sylvain. That’s why I don’t understand why you think he deserved anything than what he got.” 

Sylvain arched an eyebrow. Considering Felix for a moment, a look of kindness on his face. Then it went cold, and he let out another one of those deep sighs, and closed his eyes yet again. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, hey, what he did was more than most. No one plans for a future with me.” 

Felix smacked the dock behind him, unwilling to hit Sylvain like he deserved for saying something like that. 

“You know that’s not true.” 

“Do I?” Sylvain’s voice was as chilling than the water. So quiet. It was unnatural. People thought Sylvain was angriest when he was yelling at the top of his lungs, but that wasn’t Sylvain. That was more accurately Felix. When Sylvain was enraged, he got still. He let his mask down and everything that came with it: the flowered language, the play at stupidity, the unshakeable stance. Instead he was calculative. It made him a menace in battle, but when it came to private discussions it was chilling. "Because I remember you telling me if you had it your way, I’d never see you again after we were done here. That I’d be lucky if I was sent your sword when you died.” 

Sylvain was almost never angry at Felix, and even if he was, he let it slide. And Felix forgot how much he relied on Sylvain brushing off his cruelty, his words covered in barbs. If the two were actually matched in a verbal argument, and were both truly angry, he would lose to Sylvain every time. He had this irritating ability to maintain control. If anything, when angry Sylvain got _more_ articulate; Felix became impulsive, spoke cruelly, knew he was being rough but was too wrapped up in the satisfaction of letting loose his rage than thinking of what would come next. He was embarrassingly overemotional, as if his rage got packed full of every other emotion he tried to beat back with a sword when he got overwhelmed. As he felt right now. 

“Do you remember telling me that?” Sylvain asked. 

Felix gulped. “I remember.” 

“Thought you might.” Sylvain didn’t try to smack his head back again, but looked like he wanted to. “And Ingrid, Goddess willing, will be able to be a knight like she wants. Won’t see her much after that. Dimitri? Dimitri will be _king_. Won’t see him ever, not in any real way. So where does that leave me? Who does that leave me with? My father. A man who praised me for killing my own brother. And once he dies, I’ll be just like him. Bitter, contemptible, and oblivious. Why let it get that far?”

“That’s enough.” He covered Sylvain’s mouth. Not tight, Felix could buck him off if he wanted. It was just that the implications of what Sylvain was saying were making Felix panic.

Obviously Sylvain was freaking out himself, because his eyes looked watery. He was shivering, and Felix knew it wasn't from the cold.

"Syl." There were so many flaws in his logic, he didn’t even know where to begin. But he thought of something that was perhaps easier than the rest. “You’d never end up like your father.” He took his hand off, waving it in the air awkwardly, before settling it back on top of his head. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“You said —“ 

“We made a promise. Can’t keep my promise if I stay away too long, and we certainly wouldn’t be dying together if I was able to send you a sword.” Felix sighed. “I may speak to things like that, but I keep my word first.”

That comment didn’t help either. The anger faded out, but Sylvain looked harrowed by the words. He backed out of Felix’s touch. “Our promise isn’t supposed to be an anchor, Felix.” His voice was soft. Too soft. And he was still too smart, picking up on undertones and hidden meanings that Felix didn’t mean to put there. 

Sylvain shook himself off. Stood away from the dock, forcing Felix to back up. Rubbed the back of his skull where he gave himself a beating. Then he began washing himself off as though everything was normal. "What I said wasn’t fair. You should be able to work toward your goals as much as everyone else here. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

All masks. It was eerie, how Sylvain could pick them up and don them so seamlessly. 

Felix reeled at the change. He hated when Sylvain did it in front of him. Showed him of his own inability to cover his emotions, and worse, showed him that even though they had years into their friendship, Sylvain still didn’t trust Felix with all what he was feeling. That he hadn’t earned that privilege, or lost it, in the thousand ways Felix perhaps deserved to lose such trust. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Felix said. “I never said our promise was an anchor.” His father, Glenn’s death, and all the damnable expectations were the ball and chain Felix was tied to, not Sylvain. “You aren’t holding me back from anything. So knock it off.” 

Sylvain nodded and said nothing else. Finally Felix got fed up with his soaked shirt and ripped it off, chucking it in the same direction as Sylvain’s. The silence was eating away at him, which he found agitating, because silence was supposed to be the one thing Felix was good with. 

Yet he had no idea how to make the silence anything but suffocating. So instead, he avoided it, diving into the cold water and away from the world above where Miklan was a murderous wretch and Sylvain mourned him.

Absorbed into the dark, his body felt shocked immediately. Mind cooling off, under the water, he didn't need to think at all.

It made him feel… better. 

The silence was loud underwater, the throbbing pulse of the pond roaring in his ears, only to be interrupted by the occasional bubbling of some fish not too far away. The surroundings were dark even if he opened his eyes, what light shone was dispersed creating haloes. His senses were heightened, yet blunt — nothing sharp or clawing at him. The pads of his feet plodding against giving sand, even rocks with sharp edges caused no pain. No smell of blood or dirt, in fact, there was no smell filling his head at all. 

Sylvain might like this too.

Lungs beginning to burn from lack of air, Felix got to work on his long hair. It slipped through his fingers easily, and Felix was pretty sure he wasn't really washing it, but he was getting rid of all the knots which seemed endless and outreaching underwater. The goal was just to get all the blood out before his air ran out.

It was a hack-job, but it’d do for the time being. He popped out of the water with a gasp, only to be meeting Sylvain’s stare yet again. 

"You okay?" Sylvain asked.

Felix wasted no time. He stepped forward and grabbed onto Sylvain’s shoulders. “Let’s get the blood out of your hair.” 

Sylvain blinked, clearly a bit stunned. If the mood wouldn't shift naturally, Felix would beat it down and make it change. “I can do it myself, Fe.”

“It’s red, and blood is red, which makes it harder to see." A stupid argument. _Whatever_ , Felix thought briefly, barreling onward. "You’ll smell disgusting if you don’t get it all.” 

The explanation was insufficient and latent with ulterior motives and Felix was not stupid enough to think that Sylvain doesn’t see right through it. What he did know was that Sylvain has rarely denied Felix when he was so straightforward and, though he loathed the word, scheming. So, though Sylvain showed no expression other than mild surprise, he gave Felix the soap he was using and stood still. 

“I don’t really like going underwater,” Sylvain reminded. The fear of swimming and water may have subsided, but Felix knew the memory of _why_ had not gone away.

“It’ll be much easier if you do. Try it.” Felix nudged him just a little. “Might like it more than you think.” 

Sylvain’s gaze whipped up to meet Felix’s, and Felix refused to back down. He was trying to help, and he didn’t know how to help, except to parrot back things that worked for him. And maybe Felix wasn’t the best example, because what comforted him was obliterating training dummies, hunting, and sinking underwater, but Sylvain had always understood him. Always trusted him. 

With a sigh, Sylvain widened his stance and lowered himself. “It’s harder for me,” he said. Felix raised an eyebrow. The words too breathless and lighthearted for it to be in reference to his unspoken fear. “You’re shorter, closer to the water,” he said because he clearly was unable to help himself. 

Felix glowered in return but said nothing. Instead he placed his hands on Sylvain’s shoulders again, lightly, his right hand more just resting the bar of soap on the crest of his shoulder blade. Anything to make it clear that Sylvain would not be held down. 

“Ready?” 

Sylvain nodded, but barely. He swallowed hard. Obviously, he was not ready. 

Felix moved his hands closer to his neck. “I’m not going to hold you down.” 

“I know.” 

"Then quit looking like you think I'm going to."

That made Sylvain's blank expression crack into something like a smile. "I know you're not going to hold me down," Sylvain repeated.

“Take a deep breath.” 

Sylvain did so and flinched, tensing up as he thought he was about to force himself underwater, but Felix grabbed him tight and held him upright. “Stop. Calm down. Now take another.” 

“Oh.” A sheepish chuckle. “Okay.” He staggered, tipping backwards.

“Deep breath.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sheesh. Working on it.” 

It was funny how much the pond rippled at any of Sylvain's movements, whereas Felix felt more like he was tugged by the water. Felix was lowering him very slowly into the water while making sure Sylvain focused on his breathing. Finally, the water was lapping over his hands with every breath they took, and Felix wouldn’t lower him any further.

“I think I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Felix moved his hands back into position. “I’m not going anywhere, Syl.” 

“Okay.” Sylvain nodded, any relaxation gone, but still managing to keep his deep breaths. “Ready.” 

Sylvain went down underneath the water, and almost immediately some air left him. He clamped his hand over his own mouth and sat still, the only thing visible for Felix was the cloud of orange hair amidst the dark blue-violet waters. 

Once he seemed still, Felix moved his hand, about to reach for that cloud of hair, when Sylvain’s hand shot up and gripped his wrist. Hard. Felix stalled. With the hand not holding soap, he carefully slid the palm over the shoulder and then squeezed as tight on his shoulder as Sylvain was squeezing his wrist. Trying to ground him, if he could.

 _I'm not going anywhere, I'm not going anywhere._ As if he could pass that message through his hand. Felix smoothed his palm down the track of his shoulder that he'd been gripping, and began talking at him. "It's okay. Syl, you're alright."

Sylvain let go. As Sylvain did not have a whole lot of air left, Felix got to cleaning his hair, made sure never to lose contact with Sylvain as he was underwater. His hair was almost snarlier than Felix’s, which seemed impossible, as it was a quarter of the length. He could feel Sylvain tensing with each snagging pull Felix made, but he didn't ever buck or try to rise out of the water.

Felix looked around them as he worked. Pleased that they were still alone, but surprised that he wasn't a fan of the quiet. Too cold for bugs, too late for students and faculty, even the cats had all left to find some students' beds to sleep on. It was strange, a world so silent when Sylvain's was present. As much as Felix usually chided him to stop being so loud, it was that much worse when he didn't have to.

Then Sylvain came back up. Felix wasn’t sure if it was just because he couldn’t hold his breath as long or if he’d just had enough, but Sylvain popped up in a whirlwind and gave a weighty gasp as Felix had. 

Then he beamed. A bright, shining grin, down at Felix. 

A breath Felix hadn't realized he'd been holding loosened up and released. “Feel better?”

“Yup. Let’s get out.” Sylvain was suddenly all frantic energy. He pulled the soap out of Felix’s hand and chucked into the bucket. 

Felix blinked. “You hated every second.”

Sylvain faltered. He tipped his head back and forth. His expressions were open on his face though as he filtered through which mask to put on, until he decided on none at all. “Yeah I did.” Yet Sylvain's smile didn’t seem fake. 

That irritated Felix, and made him a little sick to his stomach. He was a hopeless comforter, and he was pissed that Sylvain had just let him go with it instead of tending to himself. “Then why stay down? I wasn’t holding you, I —“

“No, I know!” Sylvain waved his hands out, attempting to be placating. “I know, Felix. You were trying something, and I wanted to try it. I appreciate it.” This time there was no monotony to the words. All sympathetic and true. “And I do feel better. Thanks, Fe.”

With that, Sylvain hoisted himself up onto the dock. From where Felix was standing below, he looked a bit like those saint statues in the church, the ones that were getting nicer and more ornate it seemed every time Felix saw them. Sylvain wasn’t entirely back to his glittering, seemingly self-assured stature, though. His eyes were too baleful, and his shoulders had this slope to them that he got when he was emotional. But he did look a bit less weighted down. And at least he was clean, towering underneath the plummy night sky. 

It made Felix feel better too. 

Sylvain reached down a hand and Felix batted it away, pulling himself up on the dock more gracefully than Sylvain had. He grabbed the bucket and chucked a towel at Sylvain. He caught it with a snort.

Felix dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, then wrung out his hair and twisted it into a damp bun on top of his head. Then he watched Sylvain, who again was watching Felix. Every so often he opened his mouth as if to say something, but instantly shut it. Instead, his face was bright red and he was giving Felix a warm smile. 

It gave Felix the comfort enough to glare back. “Quit staring. And hurry up. I’m not going to stand here all night.” 

“Ah, you’re not going anywhere.” 

The words were heavy and thrown like a stone into Felix’s chest. Fond and calm and sobering. 

Despite himself, Felix gave a small smile and a nod. Then promptly turned on his heel and started into the monastery.

“What — hey, Felix! Wait up!” 

That made Felix snicker. Turning around he taunted, “too slow.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Title may change -- I like it, but I think I might like it more for something else I write. We shall see. Any ideas? 
> 
> **raised rating due to description of violence and references to abuse**
> 
> Also... found out I've been pronouncing Felix's name wrong the entire time. Which is funny, because this game was the reason I got the switch. I thought it was Fraldraius (instead of Fraldarius - subtle difference! Just needed to move the 'r'), which means I'll have to go back in my fics and see where I spelled out my mistake. In my defense, I did play GD first, and though I tried to recruit Felix I was a) inept at the way the game worked and b) Felix is a prickly bastard who wouldn't let me even though Sylvain did week one because I was a woman. 
> 
> Ah, well. 
> 
> This fic was originally going to be a LOT longer, and I still have all of the rest of it so I will probably either make this a two parter or convert the later parts of it into a new fic. Not sure yet. This just seemed like such a good place to stop, and I wanted to post something, as I hadn't for a while, and I do find writing these to be really fun. 
> 
> Hope all who come by and read are doing well and staying safe during quarantine. :)


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